


Sexting Interruptus

by theorchardofbones



Series: Desidero [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: I'm Sorry, M/M, Mild Language, Mutual Masturbation, Sexting, Sort Of, Trans Male Character, Trans!Prompto, this ends in blue balls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 15:40:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12111903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theorchardofbones/pseuds/theorchardofbones
Summary: Sexting isn't quite as good as the real thing — but Prompto will take it.





	Sexting Interruptus

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Promptis Fan Week](http://promptisfanweek.tumblr.com) day 6, 'desperation'.
> 
> I know desperation generally has a negative connotation, but there's something beautiful about the thought of desperation brought about by desire — an urgent, impossible need for something, or some _one_.
> 
> As is mentioned in the tags, there will be blue balls by the end of this (for the guys and my dear readers, probably).
> 
> Also Gladio just keeps on chiming in at the worst possible time, doesn't he? It's almost like he knows what he's doing...

There’s salt on Prompto’s top lip; he flicks it away with the tip of his tongue. Another drop of sweat rolls down his nose and he feels it bead there precariously before falling and vanishing away down the drain along with the torrent of hot water.

He rests his forehead against the tiled wall of the shower and lets the chill of the porcelain cool some of the heat from his skin.

On the other side of the wall he can hear the guys talking — Gladio making some joke, Ignis laughing in response. When Noct chimes in, the particulars of his words inaudible over the spray of the shower, Prompto feels a pang of need go through him.

He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip and screws his eyes shut, willing himself not to make a sound.

He shifts, leaning his knee against the wall of the shower and — there, _like that_. With his eyes shut, he can just about imagine it’s Noct’s hand between his legs, Noct’s fingers moving slickly against him. There’s Noct’s voice again, the muffled timbre of his laughter, and this time it’s hard for Prompto to stop the little gasp that huffs out between his lips.

He has a picture of Noct’s smile in his head, the wry little curve of his lips; he sees the way his friend’s eyes glitter when he’s up to no good. These images play on a loop as he tips over the edge, burying his face against his arm to stifle a low groan of need.

* * *

It dogs Prompto all day — this feeling that he’s going to get caught. Maybe he’s looking at Noct too often, or maybe it’s written across his face in permanent ink: _I want you._

He lets his gaze wander when they’re out on the field, decimating MTs; watches the prince cut through the enemy gracefully, his movements fluid and intuitive. After, when Noct wipes the sweat from his neck, Prompto can’t quite help staring at his friend’s skin, turned gold by the sun.

This is bad. This is _really_ bad.

* * *

‘What are you talking about? She’s _totally_ into you.’

They’ve been teasing Gladio almost relentlessly since they got into the Crow’s Nest; they were barely seated when the waitress swung by and left him her number after taking their order. From there, they moved on to the topic of a girl Gladio had been seeing in Insomnia, whom he had met up with again in Lestallum.

Then Holly had come up.

‘Nah,’ Gladiolus says. There’s a copper hue under the olive of his cheeks and it’s obvious from the way he rubs at the back of his neck that they’ve struck a nerve. ‘Holly’s just a friend.’

‘For _now_ ,’ Prompto says, brightly. ‘How will you know if you don’t make a move?’

He’s leaning across the table toward Gladio, his chin in his hands, when he feels something brush against his hip. His shirt must have ridden up; he doesn’t need to look to know that it’s Noct’s fingers, skirting gently across his skin.

Maybe sitting together had been a bad idea.

‘What do you know about making the first move?’ Noct teases, his voice sultry. ‘You’ve probably still got your V-card tucked away in your chocobo wallet.’

Prompto keeps his gaze down on the table and does his best to avoid meeting anybody else’s eye. The others have gone quiet and it feels like there’s a heaviness over the table — like Ignis and Gladio know exactly what’s going on, but Noct doesn’t realise it.

Prompto knows his face is burning, his embarrassment stamped all over it. When he sits back in his seat he subtly knocks his friend’s hand out of the way and folds his arms protectively across himself.

The food arrives and Gladio makes a point of flirting with the waitress, but something about it seems half-hearted. When she heads off back to work, Gladiolus sighs and sinks into subdued silence again.

They eat with minimal conversation beyond passing condiments, and Prompto never lifts his glance from the plate in front of him.

Noct fills the tank this time while Ignis heads into the mart to restock and Gladio lingers around making chitchat with the waitress. Prompto makes a beeline for the gas pump and leans back against it, arms crossed and eyes level with Noct’s.

‘Dude,’ Prompto mutters, keeping his voice hushed as though the others might somehow chance to hear. ‘What was that about?’

Noct’s trying too hard at being casual; he shrugs and flips a strand of hair out of his face, resting his hip against the body of the car while he watches the numbers tick over on the pump.

‘Did I hurt your feelings?’ he says. ‘C’mon, we all know you’re a virgin.’

Prompto fights the urge to argue that he’s done plenty — especially when most of it was with Noct. He’s not so sure that it counts when the extent of his experience has been trembling hands and stifled moans, when nobody else was watching.

‘Not _that,_ ’ he protests. ‘The other thing. The touching.’

Noct’s facade of indifference breaks just enough for his lips to twist in a smirk. He waits until the tank is full and sets the hose back into the pump, and when he’s close enough to Prompto he snakes his hand in under the hem of his shirt, letting it rest in the small of Prompto’s back.

‘What, like this?’ he says.

Prompto tries to stutter out a protest and barely gets the first syllable out. He’s blushing again, his eyes darting around the forecourt to check for anybody watching, and he jumps away from Noct as though his friend’s touch sent static through him.

Noct knows exactly what he’s doing, and he’s still smirking as he moves around the car and heads into the mart to pay. His absence leaves Prompto standing there, alone by the pumps, his skin crackling from the ghost of Noct’s hand on him.

* * *

They camp that night and the next, and by one a.m. the second night, Prompto’s pretty sure he knows what torture feels like.

It’s probably a good thing Noct sleeps on the far side of the tent, and it would be too obvious if either of them were to change places — but washing up before bed had been bad enough, rinsing off in the creek by the haven and trying not to stare as the prince waded into the water in little more than his underwear.

 _Fuck._ Okay, now is definitely not the time to think about _that._

He rolls over onto his side, facing the wall of the tent, when his phone buzzes on the ground beside him. He picks it up quickly before the vibration can wake any of the others and pulls the top of his sleeping bag over his head, letting the screen of his phone light up the confines of it.

_can’t sleep, huh? me either._

He almost sighs in exasperation when he sees Noct’s name attached to the message, but then there’s another one from him shortly after.

_i think i know something that could kill some time._

Prompto shuts his eyes and powers off the screen, ducking his head out from the sleeping bag. He hazards a glance over at the other side of the tent but he can see little in the darkness beyond the vague, fuzzy shape of Noct’s outline.

The phone buzzes again and he almost drops it in his haste to check it.

_what would you do if it was just you and me in here? i’d like to see your pretty mouth around my dick._

Prompto’s heart thuds out an erratic beat against his chest, so loud he’s sure he’ll probably wake up Gladio where he lies less than a foot away. He swallows, and stares at the message as if expecting the words to change the more he reads them.

_you’d be on your knees, touching yourself. you’d lift your hand up and let me taste you off your fingers._

Desire pulses through Prompto in a wave of heat. When he ducks his head out of the sleeping bag again, this time he can hear the slight rustle of fabric where Noct lies and he knows that sound — knows what it means.

He shuts off the vibration on his phone first. Then he licks his lips and eyes up the virtual keyboard on his phone before typing a response.

_dude. are you jerking off?_

_so what if i am? you didn’t seem to mind when you joined in at the motel._

Prompto holds his phone to his chest while he thinks. He _could_ join in; getting off like this, together, is probably better than not getting off at all. But they still haven’t talked — even after Noct promised they would — and he knows that the more they play this game, the longer they’re going to keep putting off that conversation.

He gives a hushed sigh and picks his phone back up.

Hormones win this time — he might as well have his fun.

_okay. prove it._

There’s a little delay before Noct’s next message and Prompto’s heart skips a beat. He’s not _actually_ going to— 

_what, seriously? like a picture?_

_surprise me._

Prompto lifts his head out to get some air; while he’s there he pricks his ears and listens, and here’s a little more rustling from Noct’s side of the tent. This time he _knows_ what Noct is doing, but when he huddles back inside the sleeping bag and checks Noct’s next message, he’s still a little surprised that his friend went through with it.

The lighting’s a little unflattering — the flash of a phone’s camera, casting everything in glaring white. But still, there Noct’s hand is, and there’s his… Yep. That’s definitely his dick.

There’s a throb between Prompto’s legs: a pressure that makes him squeeze his thighs together in an effort to alleviate it. The friction is almost enough, but not quite, and he’s about to slip his free hand under the band of his underwear when another message comes through.

_don’t even think about touching yourself._

It’s probably comical how quickly Prompto’s lips twist into a pout — but Noct isn’t here to see it. Noct isn’t here to see whether or not Prompto obeys his command, either, and he doesn’t think there’s any harm in touching himself _a little_. When he brushes his fingers over himself, through the soaking wet fabric of his briefs, another message comes through.

_i’m serious. don’t you dare touch yourself til i tell you to. i wanna tease you until you’re begging._

Prompto bites his teeth into his bottom lip. It would do neither of them any good for him to alert the others now by making noise, and he’s a little excited to see how things play out. It would be better if they were alone, of course, but this will have to do.

_oh yeah? what would you do if I touched myself anyway? would you punish me?_

_i’d fuck that pretty mouth of yours until you made me cum._

Heat prickles at Prompto’s neck, at his ears. That’s the second time Noct has called his mouth ‘pretty’; he seems to have a thing for it. Almost without thinking, he lifts his hand and touches his fingers to his lips, tracing over them with a featherlight touch. He imagines himself taking Noct into his mouth, imagines flicking his tongue over the tip of his dick and tasting the pre-cum from it.

_yeah? would you let me touch myself then? or would you make me beg to let me sit on your face?_

He thinks he hears a muffled curse, hurriedly disguised as a cough. When the tent returns to stillness once more, Prompto licks his lips and parts his legs a little, resting his hand on his thigh, running his fingers idly up the inside of it.

_gods, prompto. what i wouldn’t give to fuck you right now._  
_taste yourself. tell me how good it is._  
_and DON’T jerk off._

Carefully, Prompto sets his phone aside face-down and runs his hand down his body. He follows the sparse trail of hair leading down his belly and under the band of his briefs, then slips his hand under until his fingers find what he’s looking for. It’s almost obscene how wet he is when he hasn’t even touched himself; the thought of Noct giving him orders and getting off to it has a wild effect on him.

He lifts his hand to his mouth and takes his time licking his fingers clean, imagining that it’s Noct doing it. He has memories enough to go on from that one night sharing a bed, but what he lacks in experience with Noct he’s more than made up for in daydreams — this’ll be another thing to file away in _memories_ , at least.

_well?_

Noct’s getting impatient — Prompto wonders how close he is, how little it would take to tip him over the edge if he could be the one to touch the prince.

_it tastes so fucking good. wish you could taste it, too._   
_can I touch myself? please?_

He sucks the tip of his finger while he waits for the reply; scrolls back up to the picture Noct sent earlier. He looks at his friend’s slender wrist, his fingers wrapped almost artfully around himself. He thinks he can see a freckle on Noct’s dick, just by the base of it.

_you think you’ve earned it? nope._

Prompto barely restrains a sigh. If Noct has his way, he’ll probably do this all night only to pass out and leave Prompto to finish himself off. It’s time to fight fire with fire.

_c’monnnnn…_   
_you know you’ve got a freckle on your dick?_   
_I wanna taste you. wanna run my tongue up you, starting at the freckle._

_really? you’re talking about a freckle now? gonna have to try harder than that._

_yeah? what if I said I wanted you in me so deep you can’t see that freckle any more?_

He’s overheating; he has to come out of the sleeping bag for air, trying hard to keep his breathing steady. He sneaks a peak over in Noct’s direction and he can see the light of his phone, faint and pallid, through the membrane of his sleeping bag.

_gonna take you up on that if you’re not careful._

_can I touch myself?_

_no. i’m not done making you squirm._  
_thinkin about that night_  
_when i heard you gasp while i was jerking off & i realised you were touching yourself too_  
_i was thinking about you, you know that? thinking about when we were 17 and we snuck into that niteclub. some skeevy guy gave us pills and you thought it was a bad idea, but you took em, probly cuz you wanted to impress me_  
_we spent the night dancing, remember? you kept grinding up against me like you didn’t even care_  
_i wanted to fuck you so bad that night. i wanted to bend you over the sink in the bathroom and fuck you until you screamed my name._

The wall of text comes through in quick bursts and Prompto isn’t sure which is worse — the pounding of his heart, or the surge of need between his legs. Noct’s been thinking about him since _then_? Three years, and he never said a thing?

_fuck it, Noct. next motel we find, we’re getting our own room. I don’t even care what the other guys say._   
_I need you to fuck me so bad. I need your cock in me._   
_please let me touch myself. I’ll do anything._

_put your fingers inside yourself & imagine it’s me. imagine i’m fuckin you and kissin ur neck_  
_fuck, you don’t know how bad i want you. i NEED you. please touch yourself for me_

Prompto’s shaking so badly he has to set his phone aside so that he can slip his underwear down. He feels wetness drip from him, down his thigh, and a picture comes to him so clear and so _good_ of Noct licking it from him, groaning in unrestrained pleasure. He makes a mental note to share that particular mental image with his friend and moves to touch himself— 

‘Will you fucking go to sleep? You two can play King’s Knight tomorrow.’

Gladio’s voice is gravelly — dangerous. He’s a force to be reckoned with most days, but adding exhaustion to the mix only makes him all the worse.

Maybe they haven’t been as discreet as they had hoped.

With his pulse still gushing in his ears, Prompto curls his body around his phone to hide some of the illumination and brings up the conversation with Noct.

_fuck._  
_i am NOT pissing gladio off_

Silently, Prompto curses all the gods — but above all, he curses Gladiolus fucking Amicitia and his terrible timing.

_I didn’t even get to touch myself :(_   
_and I’m so wet for you_

It’s a long while before Noct replies. Whether he’s waiting to make sure Gladio has settled back down, or formulating a response, Prompto figures they’re probably done for the night. He pulls his briefs up his hips, wriggling a little so that the wetness isn’t quite so uncomfortable.

_i’ll make it up to you_  
_if you wanna get yourself off though, you better tell me all about it tomorrow._

Prompto rolls his eyes. So romantic.

_goodnight, Noct._

_night, babe._

Prompto stares at the last two words in the conversation long after the prince’s name goes offline. _Babe._ It seems so innocuous, so meaningless — yet it makes his heart twist in his chest, makes his stomach flutter.

He’s too wired to sleep, but the thought of getting off without Noct seems like no fun. Instead, he holds his phone to his chest and tugs the sleeping bag down so that he can look up at the roof of the tent, where shadows play across the surface, cast by the wan moonlight filtering through the trees overhead.

He has one last lucid thought before exhaustion eventually catches up to him: they’re having that talk, even if it kills him.


End file.
